


Masquerade

by ironicpalmtree



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Fake AH Crew, Fake Names, GTA! au, M/M, Slight bit of angst, Some fluff of course
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 17:25:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9196037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironicpalmtree/pseuds/ironicpalmtree
Summary: The disguised criminal gave him a knowing smile as he turned towards the door. “I’ve got many names."“But you can call me Vagabond.”-----Gavin met Ryan long before they both joined the Fake AH Crew - back when both had fake names and different identities.But now that Gavin is the Golden Boy and Ryan the infamous Vagabond...is anything really different?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New Year everyone!
> 
> I decided to take a break from the Spy AU and write something that turned out to be incredibly similar anyway (although this time there's less sneaky sneaky and more shooty shooty).

The bar had an acrid stench to it.

Cigarette smoke, cheap beer and the faint metallic tang of blood burned at flared nostrils and streaming eyes. Ryan resisted the urge to scrub his face, instead shoving his gloved hands into the deep pockets of his jacket. He took shallow breaths, trying and failing to acclimatise to the warm, smoky atmosphere of the dimly lit pub.

He forced himself to stand taller, pulling his shoulders back and twisting his lips into a disdainful sneer as he stepped further into the murky room. Ryan scanned the place quickly, searching for any potential threats as his eyes flicked from one corner to the next. Deeming the location as secure for the moment he made his way towards an empty table that was shoved against the back corner.

He sat stiffly, maintaining his rigid posture as he put his back to the wall. From this position, he could see everyone in the room and had an unobstructed view of the entrance – just how he liked it.

He tensed slightly when the bar door opened to reveal a tall, lanky man. Green eyes cut straight to his from across the room and even through the haze Ryan could see the smirk plastered upon his face. The young man practically strutted his way over to Ryan’s table, flopping down gracelessly onto the chair across from him.

Neither reacted for a few silent moments, analytical gazes dancing over each other as they sized one another up.

_I’d snap his wrist first,_ Ryan mused, _do it before he could reach his gun and then put him in a chokehold._

He flinched when a tan hand was thrust towards him. Ryan slit the stranger a nasty glare as they laughed at his skittishness.

“Mark Richards at your service.” The British inflection surprised Ryan for a second, surrounded as they were by rough east-coast accents. Eventually he took the proffered hand, giving Richards one firm shake before withdrawing quickly from the contact.

“John King.” He offered gruffly, eyeing the Brit critically as the man began to sprawl more comfortably on his chair. He looked outrageously young to be working in a high-profile Liberty City gang - but Ryan of all people knew that looks could be deceiving. Mark emanated a boyish innocence; a jumble of gangly limbs, wild hair and chunky jewellery. However, beneath this Ryan noticed a sharp intelligence in his bright eyes, a calculated deliberateness to his movements and a slight air of caution as he positioned himself so he could see Ryan while still watching the rest of the room.

_So not as naïve as he’s letting on,_ Ryan decided, watching curiously as Richards pulled out a bundle of papers from within his jacket.

“The information we promised.” The younger man slid the folder across the table, raising a well-groomed brow as Ryan continued to regard him coolly.

Eventually, Ryan reached out for the folder and began to flip slowly through its contents. He was met with a bunch of floor plans and analytics – schedules and observations, small pieces of information that all centred around one of Liberty City’s more high profile banks.

When he looked back up Mark was openly staring at him, large nose scrunched up and brows drawn together in an expression of…disgust?

_Disapproval perhaps._

Regardless, Ryan didn’t appreciate the burning intensity of the younger’s gaze.

“What?” He snapped out, allowing himself a small smile of satisfaction as Richards started and shrank back into his seat.

He mumbled something while playing nervously with the obnoxiously large ring that was shoved onto one of his thumbs.

Ryan leaned forward, splaying his gloved hands on the rough table as he moulded his expression into one of irritation and impatience. “What did you say? Speak up boy.”

Mark looked a little indignant at Ryan’s use of label and he raised his chin up defiantly. “Jus’ thought you’d look better with more hair, that’s all.” He muttered petulantly, now lifting his fingers to pull heavily on the gold chain that hung from his thin neck.

Ryan was shocked by the comment, running his hand through the coarse fuzz that sat atop his head. He had momentarily forgotten that he’d shaved his hair for this particular job – he’d been worried that he’d be recognised after returning to Liberty so soon.

He gave an unimpressed grunt in response, shifting uncomfortably as he felt Mark’s heated gaze upon him once more. Ryan matched his stare, channelling all the disdain he felt for the immature man before him into an icy glare. Richards’ smiled weakly, eventually dropping his eyes.

“Is that all?” He made sure his voice dropped into a low growl, a pleased warmth spreading through him as a spark of fear flashed across the younger man’s face. He stood abruptly, grinning nervously as he began to back away from Ryan’s table.

“Yes, we’re…quite finished for now. We’ll be in touch John – er – Mr King.” With that Richards turned on his heel, striding quickly for the door. The swagger he’d possessed upon entering was absent now and Ryan couldn’t be anything but pleased about that.

 

*~*~*

 

The heavy tramp of Ryan’s boots rang through the grimy hallway. He was still dressed in heist gear, blood-stained and torn in several places. Anger was rolling off him in palpable waves and crew members shrunk away from him as he shoved his way past.

The heist had, in short, gone to shit. Several pieces of intel were off and the personnel Ryan had been provided were incompetent, stupid, thuggish…Ryan let out a low growl as one of his bullet wounds throbbed.

He wrenched at the doorknob of the mob boss’ office only to find it locked. He grit his teeth, trying to control his rising temper. Frantic yelling echoed from within – a high British squeak and some guttural rumbles.

Ryan slammed his shoulder into the thin plywood twice in quick succession, the cheap latch giving way easily under his strength. His momentum carried him into the room and he stumbled slightly before straightening up.

The British kid, Mark, was held up by two gang members. His face was covered by mottled bruises, swelling hiding his normally vibrant eyes.  The gang boss – McHale or McElroy, Ryan couldn’t remember – was standing in front of the boy, fist still raised as he turned his angry glare in Ryan’s direction.

“What the fuck is this?” He spat out, spittle flying from his mouth. The man was enormously fat – Ryan was surprised that his upper body was supported by such stocky legs. Ruddy cheeks and beetle black eyes completed the image of an overindulged, short tempered mobster.

Richards let out a quiet whimper and those red rimmed eyes flicked away from him for a moment. He back handed the Brit, the force of the blow wrenching Mark to the side. He muffled his groan, tears streaming silently down flaming cheeks.

Anger flared inside Ryan’s chest, something cold trickling into his stomach at the sight of the abuse. In one smooth motion, he reached for his pistol, bringing it up and levelling it at the boss’ head.

“Heist didn’t go so good McCray.” His tone was calm, deadly as he took another step into the room – his gun never wavered from its threatening position.

McCray didn’t respond, rather more distracted by the pistol that was pointed steadily between his eyes. Ryan continued anyway, finger curling just a little tighter around the trigger. “I have a feeling that this was perhaps predetermined.”

Ryan’s suspicions were confirmed by the rush of blood that suddenly rose to the man’s quivering cheeks – his terrified gaze dropped away and he shifted nervously from foot to foot.

He allowed himself a dark chuckle; the deep, grating noise sent chills through the room. “If not for your messenger boy’s slip up -” He paused as Mark sent him a warning glance and gave a minute shake of his head – “I might have actually been in the vault when that bomb went off…so sorry to have ruined your plans.”

The mobster began spluttering out a denial, face gaining more of a magenta hue by the second. Ryan tutted slightly, silencing the man’s ramble. “If there’s one thing I don’t appreciate McCray, it’s being lied to.”

He promptly shot the man between the eyes, before pivoting and doing the same to the two crew thugs that were holding Mark up. He winked at the British kid, now in a pile of limbs on the ground, before holstering his pistol and walking back out the door.

 

*~*~*

 

Richards was up on his feet and scrambling after him before he even got to the elevator. Ryan chose to ignore him.

The younger man followed him out of the crew base and across the street, not saying a word but always two steps behind him like some sort of loyal puppy.

Eventually, Ryan got tired of humouring the Brit and whirled around to face him. “What do you want kid?” He was aiming for an irritated growl, although it seemed more of a tired sigh as his voice bounced around the narrow walls of the alley.

Mark scuffed his shoe against the ground, hands in his pockets and head down so Ryan couldn’t see his bruised face. “‘M not a kid” He mumbled, lips stuck out in a full pout. Ryan let his eyes be drawn for a moment to the shapely mouth – plump, and an attractive shade of pink. He snapped himself out of it, folding his arms and raising his brow at the messenger.

“That’s not an answer.” He grumbled.

Richards shrugged, the movement a little stiff as he struggled to roll the aching joints.

_McCray really did a number on him_ , Ryan mused.

“Jus’ wanted to thank you I guess,” the Brit muttered towards his shoes. Ryan rolled his eyes, stepping closer so he could actually hear what the kid was saying. Mark flinched at the movement, stumbling back in alarm.

Ryan reached out to steady him, giving a gentle smile as the Brit fixed him with a wide-eyed stare. He lifted his hand up slowly, giving Richards plenty of time to see it before he stretched his fingers out and wiped a bead of blood from his chin.

He pulled back quickly, as much surprised by his action as Richards was. “A life for a life.” He stated simply, smirking at the other’s shocked look. “Don’t think I don’t know how that particular vault plan didn’t make it into the folder…I don’t know why you did it kid, but thank you.”

He dropped his other hand from Mark’s shoulder and turned back to the alley entrance. The Brit didn’t make to follow as he walked away, only calling out another indignant cry of; “I’m not a bloody kid!”

Ryan laughed loud enough for the other to hear before he melded back into the shadows of the unlit street.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

The wail of an ambulance siren crashed into Gavin as he stumbled his way up to the emergency room. One hand was clutching feebly at a knife gash on his side, a bullet wound in his thigh was bleeding sluggishly.

He groaned as his foot snagged in a crack on the asphalt, sending him tumbling to the hard ground. His vision was a blurred mess of flashing lights and red smudges but Gavin struggled to his feet once more.

The glass doors of the ER slid open smoothly as Gavin shuffled past them; he moaned again as he was accosted by a mess of beeping and shouting. Nurses rushed by him, bumping his arms and jostling his wounds in their hurry.

Barely suppressed whimpers were sneaking past his lips, growing louder as he collapsed in one of those hard-plastic waiting room chairs.  He closed his eyes, drifting between states of consciousness as he slowly dripped blood onto the stark white linoleum floor.

A surprised gasp and a clatter jolted him from his stupor. Sluggishly, he raised his head to find a doctor standing in front of him. The man was tall, imposing with clear blue eyes and a sweep of honeyed hair – a noble nose and neat stubble dominated his face.

Gavin frowned, struggling to think through the haze of exhaustion that had settled over him.

_I know him. From…somewhere._

The man dropped down into a crouch, pulling Gavin’s blood stained hand away from his side so he could examine the wound. The gash began leaking once more and Gavin let out a quiet whine.

“Mark?” The deep voice triggered something in his memory. A broad-shouldered man, voice a deadly purr – gun shots, a murdered mob boss and rich laughter as he disappeared into the night.

“J-John?” His voice was barely a whisper, all his remaining energy was quickly draining from his body. The other man nodded, standing suddenly and pulling Gavin with him. The Brit gave a weak protest as his wounds throbbed and dribbled. The doctor placed him gently in a wheel chair before he was being hurriedly pushed out of the waiting room and through the hallways of the hospital.

John led them into an empty room, pulling Gavin from the chair and placing him carefully on the vacant bed. In two quick strides, he was back at the door, which he promptly closed and locked behind him.

Gavin’s eye lids flickered as the man began cutting away his shirt and jeans, gloved hands prodding at his wounds with clinical curiosity.

A cloth soaked in some sort of antibacterial fluid was swiped over his exposed skin and Gavin groaned as the ragged gashes flared up and a stinging burn spread through his body. He didn’t remember much after that.

 

*~*~*

 

Gavin jolted himself awake, wincing as newly completed stitches pulled at his tender skin. With effort, he lifted his head to take in his surroundings. The hospital room was empty of everything but himself and his bed, a bag of IV fluid hung above him and the liquid flowed into him through the tube stuck neatly into his arm. His torn and bloody clothes were missing and he was dressed in a simple hospital gown; the steady beep of a heart monitor echoed behind him.

Gavin jumped as the door was opened quickly and a familiar doctor rushed inside. The click of the lock sounded for the second time before the man turned towards him, regarding the Brit with a curious expression.

“I didn’t know you were a bloody doctor!” Gavin blurted out, pulling the sheet closer around him as the other man walked closer.

John gave a soft laugh, pulling his stethoscope from its place around his neck before gently resting it on Gavin’s chest. There was silence for several moments as the doctor listened to his heart beat – Gavin watched him with wide eyes, taking in the new scar on his cheek and the way his hair curled at his temples.

“You really do look better with longer hair.” Blue eyes snapped to his and Gavin closed his mouth quickly.

“I’ll blame the morphine for that.” King’s voice was rich and amused as he pulled back, turning instead to fiddle with Gavin’s drip. “And to answer your previous statement, no I am not a doctor,” he paused, a small chuckle falling from his lips, “Though three years of Med School and a theatre degree are practically the same thing.”

Gavin gave a slight frown, brow furrowing as he worked through his sluggish state of mind. “But…why are you…”

“Why am I here?” John interrupted, pulling off his rubber gloves with a resounding snap. “My, my Mark I thought you were smarter than that.”

Gavin opened his mouth to correct the doctor for calling him Mark before he snapped it closed – this was not the sort of man he wanted to give his real name to. Instead, he gave King the answer he was looking for; “You’re stealing from the hospital.”

John nodded vigorously, smirk widening as Gavin gave him a matching grin. “In a sense. I’m gathering information about certain shady dealings with a pharmaceutical company that we’ll later use for blackmail purposes.”

Gavin hummed in understanding, pulling his gown up so he could fiddle with the neat line of stitches on his lower thigh. A calloused palmed slapped his hand away and he flinched back.

“Don’t touch them.” King’s tone was firm but there was humour in his eyes when Gavin sent him a sheepish glance. The Brit giggled a little, flashing the doctor a toothy smile when the other man joined him.

They both jumped when someone rapped firmly on the door. John whipped his head towards the entrance, walking over quickly when he spotted the stern-faced nurse through the little glass window.

He opened the door smoothly, accepting the clip board that was shoved into his hands. “They need you in Ward 3 after you’ve finished here Doctor Garvey.” Ryan hummed in acknowledgement, flipping through the notes that were scrawled on the chart. The nurse eyed the Brit shrewdly for a moment, frowning slightly before she turned on her heel and hurried back down the hall.

“I have to go,” John – _or is it Doctor Garvey?_ – began, striding over to Gavin before deftly removing the IV from his arm, “I expect you won’t be here when I get back.”

Gavin gave a nod, already moving to grab the clean clothes the other man had brought into the room. “Thanks for everything John, or…” Gavin hesitated, concentrating instead on carefully pulling the shirt over his head, “Perhaps I should call you Doctor Garvey?”

The disguised criminal gave him a knowing smile as he turned towards the door. “I’ve got many names, Mark…” the deliberate pause on his ‘name’ did not go unnoticed by Gavin, nor the way those cerulean eyes narrowed slightly as the other looked him up and down, “But you can call me Vagabond.”

With that he slipped into the corridor, white coat flapping and bright eyes twinkling as he gave Gavin one last wink.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Geoff slouched his way into the office, breathing in the combined scent of lacquered wood and aged whisky. He smirked at the man across the desk as he dropped himself into the plush leather chair. He reclined slightly, kicking his white sneakered feet up onto the mahogany table.

“What is it then Burns?”

Burnie didn’t answer for the moment, instead reaching across the table to offer Geoff one of his vintage cigars. Geoff plucked from him, flicking the lid of his gilded lighter with practiced ease.

The two men sat in amicable silence while taking long draws of their cigars –plumes of white smoke twisted languidly around the office. Eventually, Burns sat up straighter, chucking Geoff a folder.

Geoff opened it with one lazy finger, sleepy eyes dancing quickly over the neatly typed file. “A resume?” He questioned, raising an eyebrow at Burnie.

The other man’s copper curls bounced as he nodded, huffing noisily on the now stubby cigar. “I’ve got a proposition for you Ramsey – that ain’t just any resume.”

Geoff’s brows rose higher as he read the name stamped on the second page. “You’re offering me the Vagabond?” He tried to keep the surprise from filtering into his tone but Burnie’s satisfied grin told him he hadn’t been that successful.

“He’s got a record of accomplishments a mile-long Geoff, and a list of skills that’s even longer. He’s anything you need him to be; medic, hitman, con-artist, hacker, front man…” he trailed off as Geoff’s expression turned pensive. Burnie leant forward, aware that Geoff was all but convinced as it was. “And he’s looking for a new crew on the west coast. And I, the genius that I am, thought what better crew than the less successful cousin of RT?”

Geoff gave an indignant huff at that particular accusation but Burnie only laughed. He closed the folder and tucked it into his interior jacket pocket. “I’ll give him a trial.” He grumbled at Burnie, not wanting to give the smug shit anything more to boast about. He stabbed his cigar out in the carved stone ash-tray, dropping the stub in the bin as he stood from his chair.

“Expect him in LS next week Ramsey! You can thank me later!” Geoff rolled his eyes, slamming the office door on Burnie and his obnoxious laughter.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Gavin bounced excitedly on the balls of his feet as he and Michael rode the elevator down to the meeting room. He turned to face one of the three mirrors which stretched from wall to the wall in the spacious cubicle, fiddling with the carefully styled tufts of hair that stuck out from his head.

Slender fingers moved to straighten the intricate gold pendant that was wrapped around his neck and then lifted to fix the pair of rose-gold Ray Bans that balanced precariously on his nose.

“Can you stop fucking moving for like one second?” Michael hissed at him, reaching out to shove Gavin into the mirror. This inadvertently ruined all of Gavin’s efforts to fix his gaudy appearance, an act that the Brit knew was entirely deliberate.

He let out a petulant whine as he began the task of fixing his hair once more – the locks were stiff with hairspray and remained fairly resolute in their messy position. “Micoo…” He whimpered, hiding his devious grin as the ginger man growled at the nickname, “We get to see the new recruit today! Geoff never lets us meet the newbies!”

Michael just rolled his eyes, letting out an irritated huff as Gavin began flapping his gold-covered wrists in front of him. “It’s just some stuck up motherfucker named Vagabond. With a name like that I’ll bet he’s a punk bitch.”

Gavin pushed out his lips in an exaggerated pout, widening his eyes for maximum effect. “I bet you he’s lovely Micoo,” he got a swift punch to the upper arm for that, “He’ll be a lovely little Vagabond boy.”

The elevator slid to a stop, doors opening onto the conference floor with a slight rattle. “You’re a fucking idiot Gavin, I’ll bet on that every time.” They walked into the meeting room with Gavin still whining and spitting a bunch of British gibberish back at the demolition expert.

Gavin stopped as soon as he took notice of everyone else in the room. Geoff was slouched against the wall, looking bored and sleepy as he eyed the late arrivals. Jeremy was fiddling with a half put-together pistol and Jack was leaning over a map of San Andreas’ upper county. Sitting in a corner, back straight and hands folded neatly in front of him was Vagabond.

He was covered in biking leathers, combat boots and a black skull mask. A peak of golden stubble and a surprised start when the man turned to face Gavin was all the Brit needed to confirm that this was indeed the mysterious criminal he had met all that time ago on the east-coast.

Gavin straightened himself a little, lifting his hand up to fix his sunglasses one final time. 

Gavin had changed a lot in the year since he had last seen Vagabond. _Or Garvey or King or whatever his actual name is._ He was no longer the lowly messenger boy for traitorous crews, no longer the lonesome thief that got cornered in alleyways and had to drag himself to hospital. No. Now Gavin was Ramsey’s front man – the Golden Boy.

He was a master thief, master planner. The face of the Fake AH Crew, an image of decadence and indulgence. He was the charmer, the trickster – a disarming smile in a smoky bar, a silver tongue pouring lies into another’s ear. Gavin had a carefully constructed image of confidence and carelessness. He was always dripping in gold, blond highlights shining in the Californian sun and teeth constantly a dazzling white.

And this he wanted Vagabond to see, to appreciate. He wanted the man to realise he wasn’t some helpless kid. Some _boy_ that he had to rescue from the arms of thugs.

Gavin strutted his way into the room, turning the high-backed chair around the wrong way and dropping down onto it. He sprawled casually, leaning tan forearms on the top and fixing Geoff with a lazy stare.

He didn’t even spare the Vagabond a glance.

Geoff noticed the unusual display of confidence but refused to comment on it, instead turning towards the rest of the crew and clearing his throat. “Crew, meet Vagabond. Vagabond meet the Fake AH Crew.”

There were a few murmured greetings and waves in Vagabond’s direction, of which the latter responded to with a stiff nod. Gavin yawned slightly and sprawled a little further, making sure his skinny jeans clung tightly to well-muscled thighs.

After the mandatory introduction had taken place Geoff walked over to the map and rubbed his hands together. “Alright bitches, heist time.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

It quickly became apparent to Gavin that the Vagabond had no interest in talking to him. Or interacting with him at all.

In fact, the most time Gavin had spent with the man was on job, when the taller would loom imposingly behind him and ensure that negotiations went smoothly. In the penthouse however, any attempt to talk to the masked criminal was met with a dismissive grunt and the Vagabond leaving the immediate vicinity.

Gavin couldn’t help but be a little hurt. He was certain the other man recognised him, even with the blond hair and expensive clothes. And it wasn’t as if he acted this way with everyone else. Sure, he was stoic at the best of times and said very little but Gavin often caught him cleaning guns with Jeremy or discussing pyrotechnics with Michael. He’d have a coffee with Jack over the morning paper and sit with Geoff while he watched sports. Gavin shivered at the memory of that familiar chuckle as Geoff had screamed how the Chicago Bulls 30-point lead over the Celtics was ‘Fucking bullshit Vagabond, did you see that three-pointer from Thomas!?”

Even Geoff had noticed Vagabond’s standoffish position towards Gavin and had cornered the lad after a heist meeting. He’d pushed the Brit roughly back into his seat as he’d made to stand, Gavin letting out a surprised squawk as his back bounced jarringly on the hard wood. “Geoffrey! What are you on about?”

Geoff leaned in close, fixing Gavin with a stern look to let the boy know he wasn’t joking. “What did you do to the Vagabond?” He questioned, tightening his grip on the other’s slender arm. “He’s got a stick up his ass whenever he’s around you and I wanna know what the fuck you did or said to put it there.”

Gavin gaped at him comically, a faint squeak leaving his mouth. _Something_ flashed in those green eyes a moment before the Brit began shaking his head vigorously, “Nothing Geoff I swear! I didn’t do a bloody thing!”

Geoff narrowed his eyes further, now squeezing painfully around Gavin’s bicep. “Geoffrey please!” The Brit whined, reaching up to claw at the other’s iron grip, “He just doesn’t like me.” With the hand that wasn’t pulling desperately at Geoff’s arm he gestured wildly at himself. Geoff understood – the Brit was in full ‘golden boy’ get-up, complete with a silk button up and chunky gold Rolex.

He let Gavin go and straightened, taking notice of the other’s sigh of relief and the alarm that was receding from his expression. _He’s still hiding something._

Geoff grunted in disapproval, walking towards the door. “I don’t care what it is, what you _think_ it is. Just fucking fix it.”

 

*~*~*

 

The thing was, Gavin Free was very determined person. And the Vagabond in turn was incredibly stubborn.

Under the direct orders of Geoff, Gavin began interacting as much as humanly possible with the man – be it bumping shoulders or brushing hands as they passed each other, chattering endlessly to him while driving to a job or simply being a general nuisance to the criminal around the base.

It was this final task that Gavin as busying himself with at the present moment. Vagabond was sitting at one of the metal tables in the armoury, shoulders hunched up and head down as he doggedly continued to clean and oil his collection of firearms. Gavin was leaning against the wall by the exit.

“Vagabond, Vaggybro can I call you that? Maybe Vaggyboy…that has a nice ring to it. Is that your actual name? Did you get it legally changed or something?” He trailed off for a moment, watching as the older man’s shoulders got progressively higher and veins began to pop out on his clenched fists.

“Vaggyboy? Vaggybro? Are you gonna answer me? I suppose not, I do seem to have that effect on people although I thought someone like you – you know tall, dark and handsome -would -” He broke off as Vagabond loosed a furious roar and lobbed an empty clip at Gavin’s head.

He yelped, wrenching to the side and squawking as the ammo struck his shoulder. Vagabond was glaring furiously at him, an icy fire blazing in his eyes. “Get. The fuck. Out.” He growled, calloused hand closing around a newly put together pistol.

Gavin didn’t need to be told twice.

 

*~*~*

 

After ‘the incident’, Gavin’s efforts became more subdued. He chose to stop following the path of ‘annoy the Vagabond until he kills me’ and instead looked to show the criminal a more open and humble side of himself.

He would give the man a soft smile when he walked into the base of a morning, calling out a greeting and asking how his evening was. He, unsurprisingly, never received a response to these enquiries, but it didn’t stop him from trying every day.

Gavin even made an effort to let Vagabond see him ‘unmasked’. With a big heist coming up, late nights were a common occurrence for the crew and it was here Gavin hoped to meet a more _unguarded_ Vagabond.

Gavin had retreated to his room in the penthouse suite after dinner to wash the gel from his hair and rid his wrists, neck and fingers of all the gaudy jewellery he wore. He slipped on a pair of sweats and an old, worn t-shirt.

Gavin paused to examine himself in the mirror – his hair was fluffy and his face looked older, devoid of the concealer he used to make his skin seem flawless. He smiled slightly, awkward and a little lopsided – not dazzling. This was not the Golden Boy, just plain old Gavin; lonesome thief and lowly messenger boy. It was good to stop pretending, if only for a little while.

He made his way to the kitchen, brewing himself a cup of peppermint tea. He snagged a can of diet coke from the fridge before he went to the living room.

The Vagabond was slumped on the couch, poring over maps and floor plans that were on the marble coffee table. Gavin dropped the coke down beside him, giving a small smile when the Vagabond shot him an accusing glance.

“Just thought you might need it love.” He said quietly, before dropping down onto the opposite couch and pulling his laptop onto his knees. In the corner of his eye he could see that the Vagabond was still watching him but Gavin chose to ignore it. He began to scan through police reports and security schedules, relaxing slightly when he heard a crack and the slight hiss of gas leaving a soda can.

 

*~*~*

 

It was after twelve when Vagabond finally let out a tired huff and stretched. He pulled on his leather jacket slowly, groaning as his joints complained. He gave Gavin a considering glance before shrugging the jacket into a better position and turning to leave.

Gavin stood up quietly and made to follow, being careful not to scuff his bare feet on the carpet. Concentrating as he was on his feet, the Brit didn’t realise that Vagabond had turned around at the sound of creaking sofa springs.

A hand shot out and clutched at Gavin’s wrist, who yelped and wrenched his arm backwards.

Blue eyes regarded him coolly through the holes in the skull mask, his gaze almost electric when set against the dark background of black grease paint. “Stop bothering me kid.” Vagabond rumbled before letting go and reaching for the door.

“I’m not a bloody kid!” Gavin shouted, a sense of nostalgia settling over him. There was no cold alleyway this time, no bruises throbbing painfully on his face. Instead there was a warm penthouse living room and a mask that hid the Vagabond’s handsome face from view.

The taller man laughed and shook his head, settling one hand on the door knob. “Then stop acting like one.”

An empty coke can bounced off his back before he could turn the handle. Vagabond paused and turned slowly back towards the Brit.

Gavin quailed slightly at the quiet anger that was suddenly dancing in the other’s eyes, but he refused to back down. He squared his shoulders and raised his chin, “It’s my damn job to act like a kid you tosspot. I’m meant to be charming an’ immature an’ annoying.” He stalked forwards, backing Vagabond up against the door.

“You on the other hand are a bloody rude bastard for no reason other than you don’t like me. Fine, we met twice on the east-coast…you happened to save my life both times. That doesn’t mean we can’t have a professional smeggin’ relationship.”

Although Gavin couldn’t see it, Vagabond raised a brow beneath his mask at the wounded undertone in the Brit’s ramble.

“I don’t know whether it’s because I’ve seen you without your mask on, or because you resent the fact that you had to save my life or perhaps because a helpless, stupid little thief like me helped you years ago…” Gavin heaved in a ragged breath, brows crinkling as he glared up at the other man – “You have no right to hate me John King, Doctor Garvey, _Vagabond,_ or whatever the bloody hell your name -”

Vagabond suddenly reached out and took Gavin by the throat and flipped their positions so he was the one pushed against the door. The grip around his neck was gentle enough, a comfortable weight really, as Gavin gazed up at the Vagabond with terrified eyes.

Vagabond raised his hand incrementally, Gavin watching the agonisingly slow movement attentively as his breathing slowed and his mind stopped racing.

With a swift flick of his wrist the taller man pulled the mask off his face, dropping the rubber headwear on the carpet with a muted thud. “You talk far too much.” Vagabond breathed, eyes tracing the movement of Gavin’s throat bobbing.

Gavin closed his eyes, back arching as he submitted fully to the Vagabond’s dominating touch. “I don’t hate you Gavin…never did.” The taller man’s voice was calm and steady and Gavin let it flow through him. “I came here for a new start, a place where I didn’t change identities every few months – a place where I wasn’t wanted and hunted as several different people.”

“And then I got here and the first thing I see is a ghost from the past. A glowing British boy covered in jewels, strutting into the room like all the world was at his feet. I never forgot you _Mark -”_ Gavin’s breath hitched at the name, “But you were something I left behind in the east, an enigma I figured wouldn’t follow me across the country.”

A smooth thumb tucked under his Adam’s apple, stroking tenderly along the column of his throat. “I’m not the boy you found bleeding out on the hospital floor anymore.” Gavin murmured, mesmerised by the Vagabond’s soft touch.

“No,” that deep voice agreed, teeth catching on the Brit’s ear lobe. Gavin sucked in a noisy breath, legs beginning to tremble. “You are so much _more_ than that.”

With that the Vagabond released him, bending down to pull his mask on once more. He opened the door, glancing back at the Brit who was leaning heavily on the back of the couch. “I’ve got many names Gavin,” He purred the name, enjoying the way the syllables twisted out past his lips. The Brit’s eyes widened as he heard the echo of a long past conversation.

He grinned as he gave the smaller man a slow wink. “But you can call me Ryan.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

The heist went ‘bloody swimmingly’ in the words of Gavin and the crew found themselves rosy cheeked and laughing boisterously in one of their favoured bars.

Geoff’s voice rose to a higher register with each consecutive drink and Jack’s wheezing laughter was out of control by the third shot in.

Gavin giggled and joked with his boys, Jeremy and Michael slurring their words and leaning heavily on each other as they sunk into the inhibition of the drink and the joy of the night.

Gavin and Vagabond remained remarkably sober, the Brit still drinking his first beer and Ryan taking regular sips from a schooner of coke. Gavin lay his head on the older man’s shoulder the adrenaline of the job draining away and all those late nights catching up on him.

“Ryan.” He breathed quietly, watching the others to make sure they didn’t hear the name. The man stiffened beside him, turning so Gavin could see the bright blue of his eyes shining through the mask. “Take me home Ryan.”

Ryan nodded, rising from his seat and pulling Gavin from his own when he stretched out his hands. Geoff looked up as the two made to leave, bloodshot eyes narrowing slightly. “Where the fuck are you two going?”

Ryan shrugged, nimble fingers zipping up his jacket. “Heading out boss, we’re both a bit tired.” Geoff nodded, slumping back into his seat, appeased.

“Don’t forget to use a condom.” Michael drawled, throwing Gavin a cheeky grin – more of a slack jawed gape in his current state of intoxication.

Gavin jumped, squeaking out an embarrassed “Micoo!” but the ginger’s attention was already diverted. In fact, all the men at the table were too focused on Jeremy’s attempt to punch a hole through the wood to care that Ryan put his arm around Gavin’s shoulders as they left the pub.

 

*~*~*

 

Gavin gasped as he was thrown down onto the bed, Ryan following after him. The older man’s smooth lips mouthed at his neck hungrily and Gavin groaned as he ground their hips together.

“You were beautiful today dear.” Ryan rumbled, one hand deftly unbuttoning Gavin’s jeans and reaching inside. Gavin arched his back, an image of perfection, and Ryan let out a pleased growl. “I didn’t think anyone could look so god damn _hot_ shooting a cop between the eyes.” He punctuated the sentence with a sharp thrust, Gavin whined in response.

He laved his tongue over prominent collarbones, rough fingers trailing down the Brit’s sides so he could grip his hips softly.

“How do you want me golden boy?” Gavin whimpered as his jeans and boxers were shucked off in one smooth motion and he was completely bared to the man looming above him. He reached up to curl a hand around that strong neck, bringing Ryan down for a gentle kiss. Stubble brushed at his cheek and he sighed in contentment as the other’s warm weight settled over him.

“Slow please,” He murmured, rocking up into Ryan, “I need you close right now.”

Ryan gave a pleased hum and started moving down, dropping wet kisses between Gavin’s pecs. “Of course, my love.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Gavin scrambled into the penthouse, Geoff stalking in after him. He tripped over a stray couch cushion and landed on all fours.

The door slammed as Michael and Ryan walked in after them.

“What _the fuck_ was that?” Geoff spat at Gavin, reaching down and pulling the Brit up by the scruff of his neck.

Gavin whined, fingers scrabbling frantically at Geoff’s wrist as he was pulled up higher. The collar of his shirt pulled tighter, and Gavin let out a choked, pleading gasp.

“Geoff please!” He croaked, trying to fight down the panic rising within him.

_Freezing Liberty City winters, angry mobsters who would kick him around. Reeking of alcohol and blood. ‘Stupid boy’, they said, ‘use him as the bait.’ Heavy boots dashed into his side, knuckles across his face and all he had to do was escape…run, run away from the east, run away from the memory._

Geoff’s breath stunk of whiskey as he leaned in closer, it made Gavin gag and he struggled harder. Feet kicked uselessly at the ground as his mind was swamped by fear and a need to run, to escape.

“You could have got us all killed you idiot!” Geoff hissed, “Why didn’t you check before you led us right into their trap?”

_Stupid boy, they said._

Gavin let out an anguished cry, pulling fruitlessly as Geoff only tightened his grip.

“Enough!”

Gavin was dropped back to the ground as Geoff turned to face Ryan – the latter was practically rippling with anger.

“Back the fuck off Vagabond.” The gang leader growled, drawing himself to his full height - he didn’t even compare with Ryan’s hulking form. “I don’t care who you fuck. This crew is mine and I’ll handle this without your interruption.”

He twisted back around to Gavin’s cowering form but his right arm was seized before he could grab the Brit again.

“You’re drunk.” Ryan snarled, wrenching Geoff’s arm up behind his back. “I suggest you leave him alone and sober up before you do something you’ll regret.” Geoff stared defiantly back at Ryan, whose eyes narrowed even further behind the mask. He pulled the boss’ arm up higher, the man letting out a yelp of pain.

Geoff dropped his gaze and stopped struggling against the Vagabond’s grip. Satisfied, Ryan let go of the gang leader and made his way over to Gavin, who flinched slightly when he went to wrap his arms around him.

“Gavin darling, its me.” He murmured, looking down into those tearful eyes that were almost black with fear. He hoisted the boy up, supporting him as they made their way back towards the door.

Ryan sent Geoff one last icy glare before closing the pent house door with a resounding thud.

 

*~*~*

 

He carried Gavin into their apartment and lay him down on the sofa. The younger man was sniffling quietly, slowly coming out of whatever panic-induced shell he had retreated behind.

Ryan squatted down beside him, reaching out to gently brush those tears away.

“My sweet,” He whispered, smiling down at the wide-eyed man, “Don’t listen to anything he said. He was drunk and a bit shaken, that’s all.”

Gavin dropped his gaze, moving his head away from Ryan’s touch. “It was my fault,” He mumbled, fiddling with the partially ripped collar of his shirt. “I should have done more checks, put in more surveillance. I was careless and stupid, and I put you all in danger!”

He huffed quietly as Ryan shushed him, palm reaching slowly out to smooth down his unruly hair. The older man rose from his crouch only to lay himself over Gavin.

The Brit relaxed under the weight, sighing into the other man’s neck and closing his eyes.

Ryan fit his lips right behind Gavin’s ear, hands moving to swipe over covered ribs. “There was nothing more you could have done,” He rumbled, kissing softly at the supple flesh, “And I don’t want to hear you call yourself stupid again.”

He lifted himself slightly to meet the Brit’s eye. “You are incredibly intelligent Gavin Free. Fearless and strong. You are Ramsey’s Golden Boy – the thief and the trickster and I won’t have you believing anything else.”

Gavin strained up towards him, lips meeting in a needy kiss. Ryan pushed him back down into the couch, breathing in the other man and covering him completely. He began to hum softly, smiling as he felt the tension in Gavin’s body start to drain away.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

The ambush was only the start of it.

There were attacks on crew warehouses, gun fights with lower crews under Geoff’s protection. A safe house up in flames and a weapons provider found dead in the sewer.

A new gang was in town and it was clear they intended to stay.

It took Ryan a while to recognise the pattern. Certain trademarks left behind at scenes of devastation and destruction. Three bullets to the head when any of their associates were assassinated, a grinning face painted in blood outside their scorched warehouses.

It appeared that Ryan’s past had finally caught up with him.

And it was going after the Fake AH Crew.

Years ago, he had infiltrated an east-coast gang, climbing high into its ranks per Burnie’s instruction. And then one day he disappeared; in his place were empty bank accounts and FBI agents knocking at the door.

Ryan had been stupid to think they would forget. That they wouldn’t find him wherever he went. His face was too well known around the east-coast, shaved head and a beard not enough to hide him from his vengeful pursuers.

But in California, on the other side of the country… with a mask and no name and no connections he had believed he would be safe.

Unfortunately for Ryan, everyone must wake up at some point.

 

*~*~*

 

It didn’t help that Geoff and Ryan clashed at every opportunity. The crew leader was still resentful of his disobedience, of his disrespect and he made sure that Ryan knew it.

Tension grew within the crew, stress and fear dominating the base environment until Ryan could hardly bare to be there.

He was restless and nervous – flinching at shadows and shooting at enemies that weren’t there. He was also swamped by guilt – all too aware that this unrelenting attack was entirely his own fault. He gave in to cowardice, choosing not to tell the crew about his past discretions. He left them to fight in the dark, to suffer the consequences of his mistakes.

And so, with the attacks growing more frequent and Geoff’s hatred building Ryan made the decision. He called up old contacts and starting making plans. Kell Sanders would be his name – Georgian native hoping to find work in an Amsterdam hospital. He was a registered customer with the Amsterdam Trade Bank, a resident in a loft above one of the city’s many canals. Ryan Haywood would be left behind in Los Santos, just as John King was deserted in Liberty City – the Vagabond would be no more than a ghost.

 

*~*~*

 

Gavin sat waiting in the darkened apartment, foot tapping an erratic rhythm on the polished floorboards.

He chewed anxiously at his bottom lip, stripping the skin away and drawing blood to the surface. The taste of copper filled his mouth but he ignored it, continuing to stare at the apartment door.

Ryan had been growing distant lately, cold and aloof. Much like he was before _that night_. Gavin would admit that it stung a little, to be brushed aside and ignored as the older man drew more within himself.

_At least now I know why._

The Brit jumped at the sound of a key turning in the lock. He sat himself straighter on the lounge, rearranging his features so that his expression displayed a calm indifference.

Ryan stopped as he opened the door, tongue darting out to wet dry lips as he spotted Gavin waiting for him in the living room.

“Good to see you’re home now love.” The Brit’s voice wavered a little bit, betraying the hurt that was welling up inside him. Ryan could see his strained position, the way that empty smile didn’t come close to reaching his eyes.

By the younger man’s feet was a duffle bag, full of Ryan’s belongings – clothes and weapons, precious things like the key to an old motorbike and a simple silver chain Gavin had given him months ago. On top of the bag sat a European passport.

Ryan’s heart sank and he let out a heavy sigh. “Gavin.”

The Brit stood abruptly, slender hands balled into fists. “Don’t _Gavin_ me you bastard.” He hissed, stalking forward and pointing an accusing finger at Ryan. “ _You’re_ running away!”

Desperate hands landed on his chest, gripping tightly as Gavin looked up at him, raw desperation pulling at his handsome face. Ryan brushed the touch away, swallowing down the lump in his throat.

“Go away Gavin.” He kept his tone flat, hiding the anguish that clawed at his heart. He walked to the couch, bending down and pocketing the passport before shouldering the duffle bag.

The Brit let out a wail, scrambling after Ryan and latching on once again. A hiccupped sob burbled from within him, well-manicured nails digging into the leather of his jacket. “Ry you can’t leave!” He whined as the other man began moving towards the door, dragging Gavin with him. “You said this was the real you. You promised me you’d stay, that you’d never leave me!”

Ryan closed his eyes, feeling the tell-tale burn of suppressed tears. He grabbed at Gavin’s hand, which was now tearing the soft cotton of his t-shirt. He rubbed against the soft skin for a moment, savouring the feeling, the warmth of the younger man’s touch. “I’m sorry.” He whispered before shoving Gavin away from him and wrenching the door open.

The Brit’s cries followed him down the corridor and he fought every instinct that told him to run back and pull the younger into his arms. He was protecting him. Protecting them all.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“You sure this is safe boi?” Michael took his eyes away from the road for a second to glance at Gavin. The man was slumped in the passenger seat beside him, fiddling absent- mindedly with one of his many rings.

“100%” The Brit replied flatly, not even bothering to meet Michael’s gaze. “I triple checked these guys, they’re not working for the ‘Invaders’.”

Michael scowled at the name, unoriginal as shit but still very appropriate. The motherfuckers had muscled their way into Los Santos eight months ago and refused to leave – some east coast bitches that needed to learn some manners.

Their attack against Geoff’s empire had been overwhelming in the beginning, they seemed to be everywhere, know everything - but lately their attention seemed…divided.

With a merciful break in the onslaught Geoff had been able to gather his forces and start a counterattack. Now they were slowly starting to clean up the gang scene in Los Santos – bring it back into order.

Michael cast another worried look at the Brit next to him, sighing a little as he shifted in the driver’s seat. Lately Gavin seemed to embody the essence of ‘downtrodden’. His hair was a little lank - brown regrowth starting to show – his eyes were always gloomy, ringed by dark circles and heavy lines. He still wore the jewellery and the Armani button ups, his skin still shimmered with a coating of fake tan cream and shiny sunglasses were still perched on his large nose. But without the bubbly personality and oozing confidence the Golden Boy seemed a little…duller, tarnished.

The whole crew was aware that his drastic change in demeanour was entirely caused by the Vagabond’s disappearance two months previous. None of them really knew how deep that relationship went; whether it was a casual fling or something more solid. But Michael had his suspicions that the two were far closer than any of them gave them credit for. Why else would Gavin be so heartbroken?

The rim of the Adder scraped slightly as he pulled into the gutter, jolting both he and Gavin from their reveries. Gavin let out a large huff of breath, lips pouting as he looked out at the run-down warehouse.

Michael reached out to touch the Brit gently on the shoulder, withdrawing quickly when the other flinched violently – Gavin never liked to be touched anymore. “You alright man?” He questioned, hoping he was giving Gavin an understanding smile.

Gavin shrugged, shaking his head slightly before straightening up. Michael could almost see the walls going up and the Golden Boy mask coming down. A fake smile was plastered on, gold chains flashing in the watery sunlight as Gavin stepped from the car. “Let’s just get the meeting over with yeah?”

Michael reached into the back of the car for his SMG, checking the clip and thumbing the safety. “Of course boi.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Bullets thudded by overhead, showering clouds of dust over Gavin’s crouched form. He gripped his assault rifle tightly, popping up from cover and firing twice before dropping down once again.

His breath was ragged and blood raced frantically through his veins. A firefight was not Gavin’s favourite place to be - it was too much action, with quick thinking and good instincts required. Gavin much preferred the shadows, the safety of stealth and anonymity. He thrived in the world of deceit and lies, sniper pellets to the back of the head and nimble fingers snatching wallets.

The searing heat of an explosion and the acute sting of bullet scrapes was not Gavin’s playground, more his nightmare really.

He could hear Jeremy screaming in his earpiece, Michael shouting back as the two took the west side of the compound. Jack was in the helicopter above, Matt and Trevor providing covering fire as they hung out its open sides.

At least this compound was the final one – it contained the last of the rats they needed to flush from Los Santos. After this the ‘Invaders’ would be running back to their east coast haven, hopefully to never show their faces in LS again. Well, at least while Ramsey was still king.

Gavin sprinted out from his concrete barrier, rolling as a clip of bullets was sent his way. He ducked behind an old waterpipe, the rolling clang of metal hitting metal ringing in his ears as his hiding place was fired upon.

The other gang was falling back, growing desperate as they realised how outgunned and outnumbered they truly were. Gavin gave chase, pursuing one fleeing member through a corridor and out onto a run-down balcony.

Gavin pointed his gun at the cornered rat, sneering as the other frantically searched for an escape route.

“You’ve lost. Just give it up!” He called out, advancing further out onto the second-story platform. The other man squared his shoulders, flicking his greasy hair from his eyes so he could stare Gavin down.

“It doesn’t matter,” He snarled, curling his upper lip and baring yellowed, chipped teeth. “Haywood isn’t here anymore, you can have this dog-shit of a city.” He had a faintly Russian accent, making his voice coarse and slurred.

Gavin lowered his gun slightly, confused at the casual mention of Ryan’s last name. “I don’t care what bollocks you’re going on about…you can’t talk your way out of this one.” His voice wavered slightly, confidence dripping away under the man’s smug gaze.

“I think you know exactly who we’re talking about Free.” He growled, slowly pulling a grenade from his pocket. “Don’t assume we didn’t know about the two of you. We may have failed to take down his crew but we can still get rid of his precious twink.”

With that he pulled the pin and tossed the explosive towards Gavin. The Brit jumped backwards, too distracted to stop the man from vaulting over the rusty railing and jumping to the ground several metres below.

Gavin was filled with blind panic, vision tunnelling as he looked at the grenade that was ticking away by his foot. Someone screamed out his name as he ran for the fence, scrambling over it and pushing away from the balcony with all his strength.

A deafening boom sounded above him and a burning force pushed at Gavin’s back, throwing him into the air. He sailed over the courtyard, vaguely aware of blood that was pouring from too many places. He landed in a heap of limbs, a sickening crunch reverberating through his body.

Something…someone filled his vision, shouting at him and grabbing at his hands. He couldn’t hear anything, just a ringing that was growing louder by the second. Sleep called to him, a comforting softness that wrapped around him, numbing the pain. He frowned, vaguely feeling the need to fight against the force of darkness pulling him. Frantic blue eyes anchored him for a moment before he felt the last of his strength slip away. He closed his eyes and slept.

 

*~*~*

 

“Gavin! Gavin!” Ryan screamed, slapping the others face and shaking him slightly. The Brit gazed blearily at him for a moment before green eyes rolled backwards and Gavin slumped against him.

The was a slight gurgle in the Brit’s throat, breath rattling every time he heaved in a breath. His shirt was singed away at the back, angry red burns littered his tan skin, already starting to blister.

Ryan let out a despairing sob before gathering the smaller man into his arms and racing for his bike. He leant Gavin against the handle bars as he stuck the key in the ignition and violently kicked the stand up and out of the way.

He pulled the other close to him, wrapping limp arms and legs around his torso and tucking Gavin’s face into his chest. He raced away from the compound, clinging onto the unconscious man with one hand as he weaved through traffic with the other.

Ryan sprinted into the emergency room, Gavin bundled tightly in his arms and ran up to the closest nurse. The middle-aged woman’s eyes widened in alarm as she took notice of the burned and bleeding boy that hung like a rag doll in the tall man’s arms.

Ryan babbled frantically about skin grafts and head wounds, broken ribs and a punctured lung. His voice rose with hysteria as Gavin was taken from his grip and placed in a hospital bed. He kept a hold of the Brit’s hand the whole time, running alongside the speeding gurney. He was mumbling apologies into the other’s ear, dripping tears on his blood-smudged face.

Two men pulled him away from the bed as Gavin was wheeled into the OR but he didn’t fight them. They led him to a seat, placing firm hands on his shoulders and forcing him to sit on the hard-plastic bench. Ryan was left shuddering, hands clasped in silent prayer – all the while apologies spilled from his trembling lips.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Gavin lay draped over Ryan’s lap, a blanket wrapped around both men as they watched some clichéd crime show on TV.

Ryan was humming a soft melody into Gavin’s ear, fingers tracing aimless patterns over the newly healed skin on his back.

Gavin sighed, snuggling further into the bigger man’s chest. He took a deep breath, huffing in the scent of subtle cologne and spiced body wash. A soft kiss was placed on Gavin’s neck and he tilted his head backwards till another was pressed to his lips.

He reached up to brush at the faint smudge of grease-paint that was left around Ryan’s eyes – the older man closed them so Gavin could rub it away properly.

“Let’s go to bed Ry,” Gavin yawned, standing carefully to avoid stretching the skin on his back. Ryan had assured him several times that the skin grafts were fully healed weeks ago, but Gavin couldn’t help but be cautious. He still sometimes felt the phantom burn of the expanding explosion, smell his charred flesh as it curled up and away from his bones.

Ryan could see the far away look in his lover’s eyes, sharp gaze catching the tell-tale tremble in his hands. He bundled the Brit up under the covers, pulling him into his chest and petting firmly down his side.

He crooned soft words into Gavin’s ears – love dripping from every syllable. Slowly, with a solid touch and lilting voice, Ryan pulled the Brit from his tortured memories and coaxed him into slumber.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“I don’t care what kind of bullshit excuse you have this time, we gave you the ammo supplies weeks ago, and we expect payment.”

Ryan watched the altercation between Gavin and the lowly gang leader impassively, arms folded over his barrelled chest and frosty eyes staring down the other gang members.

The crew leader was a portly man, beefy moustache and ruddy cheeks. It was reminiscent of that fat gang leader from Liberty City all those years ago. But Gavin wasn’t cowering anymore.

No, Gavin had drawn himself up to his full height – sickly sweet smile more threatening than any sort of scowl Ryan could produce. There was danger wrapped around every honeyed word that fell from Gavin’s shapely mouth.

Ryan didn’t flinch as Gavin pulled a golden pistol from his waistband and pointed it at the spluttering man. Underneath the fluorescent lights, Gavin seemed to be glowing, shimmering from the tufts of his blond hair to the gold entwined around his wrists and fingers.

The gang leader seemed to be contemplating how good with that gun Gavin really was, if the conniving light in his beady eyes meant anything. Ryan unfolded his arms, coming to stand behind Gavin and remind the stout man of his presence.

He quailed at the combined sight of Ryan’s hulking silhouette and Gavin’s flared brilliance. He barked out an order for the money to be brought immediately, shifting nervously as two pairs of eyes lit up with cruel satisfaction.

Outside, money safely packed away in a brief case, Ryan ripped his mask off and pushed Gavin against the side of his car.

The Brit squawked and looked up to find Ryan’s kindly face looking down at him. Gavin’s own mask seem to fall off in that moment, eyes softening and a genuine toothy grin spreading across his cheeks.

Ryan kissed him sweetly, revelling in the feel and the taste of Gavin. It was this that he loved – the open and vulnerable man who yearned for a soft touch and a kind word. A graceful beauty surrounded him once all the glitz and false confidence was stripped away.

Gavin thought mu h the same, sighing happily against the other’s plush lips. Beneath imposing muscles and an icy glare was someone tender and loving. His Ryan adored plants and cooking. His Ryan would write cheesy poetry about his favourite Brit and trace loving words into his back till he fell asleep at night.

Beneath the masquerade there was trust and pure affection. Beneath the masquerade there was love.

They shared a secret smile as they slipped into the car, the Zentorno rumbling to life as Ryan turned the key in the ignition.

Ryan shoved the car into drive and pulled smoothly away from the curb, laying his hand palm up so Gavin could take it.

Gavin reached out, enjoying the tactile affection that no one else but him got to see.

“Let’s go Vaggyboy.”

Ryan’s grip tightened painfully as he shot Gavin a baleful look.

“Call me that again and I’ll break your fucking hand.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Ten bucks to anyone that can guess where I got Gavin's fake name from.
> 
> Hint: I was watching the Sydney to Hobart when I came up with it ;D
> 
> Hope everyone enjoyed this beast - I never wanna write ten thousand words in one day again.


End file.
